Miley Cyrus Caught Drinking a Beer, Said to be Heading Towards Self-Destruction

Since Miley was spotted ‘just bein’ Miley’ in Madrid this week with a Corona brand beer in hand, all the usual suspects have been hinting, not so subtly, of the probable Lilo-like self-destruction to come, and at least one international organization has alleged that this time our provocative young star really has “gone too far.”
The International Institute for Alcohol Awareness says that Cyrus, 17, whom was said to be “casually drinking” while “out on the town,” will influence young people who see her as a role model. “As a consequence” they say, tweens “will go out and become intoxicated putting their safety at risk.”

Good news for Miley to be sure. Especially considering that all indicators show Miley intends to violently break the child pop-star mold like so many others before her.

And while, as PopEater justly noted, Miley seems to be “following a script for teenage rebellion,” we still have to wonder if Miley is following the script, or if we are.

Is sipping one cheap Mexican beer enough to start getting international organizations involved and the entire English speaking world excited about another star’s impending downfall, or do we just know so well by now, from so much prior experience, that this the point at Miley’s career where she’s supposed to self-destruct that we read auto-aggression into any minor slip-up?

Which, in any case, best displays how we treat our stars once we’ve tired of them and outgrown them, or in Miley’s case, once they’ve outgrown us. Seeing this enough times one gets the sense that celebrity self-destruction is a necessary spectacle, an unstoppable cycle, a force of human-nature just like any other. If we didn’t first help used stars destroy themselves, how could we ever make headline space for new ones?

About

I think the idea to start “Scallywag and Vagabond.” (SCV) originates from my myriad background and the many years I have spent in preferred cafes and brasseries extolling the virtues and subtle intricacies of ‘being’ as the Beaujolais ran, the cigarette wafted and the gentleman to my side pontificated while spraying himself with a deftly tied cravat and sun crested idolatry.’

I grew up in Australia where as a young man one was obliged to become a hero of sorts. A master swimmer, fighter of causes, ideals and disheveled denizen of aesthetics, and more often a carefree ‘larrikin’ who would occasionally poke his sun bronzed nose at authority and convention Read More